


Sorry I Missed You

by SassyEggs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Miscarriage, Not A Happy Ending, Not really an ending at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:29:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7708000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working together (and separately) through a loss</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorry I Missed You

**Author's Note:**

> It's sort of a mess but I kinda like it that way

 

* * *

 

Sandor Clegane squinted at the wall of feminine products, baffled by the selection. Why were there so many?  It was bullshit- night time, active, with wings, _unscented?_ The fuck?  He tossed a few different packs into his basket then stalked towards frozen food.

His phone buzzed once in his pocket and he fished it out quickly to see a message from Arya, the only one of Sansa’s family members he could tolerate at the moment. At least she had the good sense to text.    

> A:  Hey
> 
> S:  Hey
> 
> A:  How is she?
> 
> S:  How do you think?
> 
> A:  Does she need anything?
> 
> S:  Nothing any of us can help with.
> 
> A:  Mom thinks we should go distract her.
> 
> S:  No, don’t.
> 
> A:  That’s what I said. Mom’s worried she’s sad.
> 
> S:  Of course she’s sad. She doesn’t want to be distracted, though, just let her be sad.
> 
> A:  Ok, I’ll keep mom away. How are you?
> 
> S:  Better than Sansa.
> 
> A:  Sorry, man. Really sucks.  If there’s anything I can do just hit me up.
> 
> S:  There’s not. But thanks.

 

* * *

 

It had been a surprise to him, though maybe he should have seen it coming from a mile away. Yeah, they had talked about it; yeah, they were ‘trying.’  And yeah, she’d been ridiculously cheery lately.  But when she presented him with a dinner of baby carrots, baby quiche, and baby corndogs, the meaning had sailed right over his head.

“Is this all we’re having?”

“Well, no,” she’d beamed. “There’s also a bun in the oven!”

 _That_ had sailed right over his head, too.  Fortunately, her disappointment in having to explain it hadn’t lasted long, and soon she was showing him pictures of cribs and strollers and assorted baby-related minutiae.  She’d been so happy, so brightly animated, chirping about the family they’d be having; he was just happy he could make her happy.

She was _great_ at it.  Of course she was.  She took the vitamins and drank the smoothies and bought the magazines.  She made all the right appointments, signed up for all the right classes, read all the right books.  When morning sickness hit her she was actually _happy_ about it, glad that things were going according to plan.  And she _glowed._ It was a stupid cliché but it was true- she was radiant. 

He was considerably less great at it. The truth was, he kept _forgetting_ about it.  He’d ask her if she wanted to go get drinks or something and she’d give him an incredulous expression, and then they’d stand there staring at each other and he _still_ didn’t remember. 

“I can’t go get drinks, Sandor, you _know_ this,” she’d prompt after a moment.

And he’d glare at her, confused, but then he’d notice the way she laid a hand across her still-very-flat belly and the book with a pregnant lady on it she was holding and everything would come snapping into focus.

“Yeah, I know,” he’d concede as if he really knew the whole time. “Is it ok if _I_ go out?”

Damn, he was such an asshole. He’d do better next time. 

It was just that it hadn’t been _real_ for him, maybe cause nothing had _changed_ for him.  For him it was little more than a concept, something to be worried about _later._ There were no vitamins he was supposed to take, no morning sickness to contend with, no doctors’ appointments he had to keep.

Except for one.

“1:15, don’t forget.”

There was no hope of forgetting when she reminded him every 12 seconds that she had an ultrasound scheduled and expected him to be there. And he’d grumbled quietly about the inconvenience of having to miss work right in the middle of the day, but ultimately they’d both just taken the day off and slept in late. _Very_ late.  He’d woken around 10am, before her, and spent many long moments studying her perfect little features, amused by the soft snores that were (allegedly) a normal side-effect of pregnancy.  When her eyes finally fluttered open she laid a hand across her belly then turned to him and smiled.   

“Are you excited about meeting your baby?”

“You know I am,” he’d replied sarcastically. That’s what he remembered, looking back- his stupid sarcasm.  She’d been so bubbly and blissful, even on waking, and he couldn’t even pretend to be excited.  He’d do better next time.

He’d hauled himself out of bed, intent on taking a quick shower, but before he could get to the bathroom she’d called him back with a weak-

“Sandor?”

It was the _tone_ in her voice that made him pause, and when he’d turned in surprise he saw that she’d pulled the sheet back, revealing a splash of red soaking her nightgown right between her legs.  There had been so much blood, _absurd_ amounts of blood, and Sansa had been so pale and panicked that Sandor dropped straight to his knees and promptly passed the fuck out.

Not a particularly good showing for the Hound.

At least he managed to get her to the ER. Neither one of them spoke as he drove- he was worried about her, knew she was scared, knew _she_ was worried about the baby.  Their baby.  The one they were supposed to meet _later._

They’d sat in the waiting room for ages, their emergency apparently not that big a deal to anyone else, and Sansa had been poised and withdrawn the whole time. Didn’t want to eat, didn’t want a drink, no, I don’t want a magazine, thank you.  Two hours later they finally got in.

“Will you call my doctor and tell them I’ll have to miss my appointment?” she’d asked the nurse in triage, polite but stiff. Robotic. 

It actually _annoyed_ him that she thought of that.  She was still so good at it, so diligent in doing everything right, while _his_ head was crowded with every wrong thought imaginable:

 _How long will we be here?_  
_Good thing I took the day off._  
_Man, I’m starving._  
_These chairs are really fucking small._  
_She doesn’t even look pregnant._  
_It’s like it was never real_. 

He hated himself for that last part- it hadn’t been real to him, and it never would be. He never should have thought of it that way, should have taken it more seriously.  And now there was a big hole up there in his future, a smudge of blackness where _something_ was supposed to be, someone he would've worried about _later._  

The doctor had been kind but clinical, asking questions while a nurse drew blood, but was so dodgy with answers Sandor wanted to punch her. She absolutely refused to confirm the obvious until they’d done two blood tests which meant an answer was days away. _Days_ away. 

The nurse, on the other hand, didn’t hold anything back.

“This happens all the time,” she’d told them as soon as the doctor was out of the room. “Usually a problem in the genetics that won’t let it grow past the first trimester.  I know you’re sad, but if there’s something wrong with the baby then trust me, you don’t want it.”

“Of course I want it,” Sansa had hissed. “That’s my _baby.”_

It should have been funny to see his normally mild-mannered bird with her claws out. It _would_ have been funny.  If only.  The nurse had given her a sort of condescending smile before retreating and Sansa had deflated against him and sobbed herself sick, vomiting into the trashcan, thoroughly defeated.

More waiting. What was it about hospitals and waiting?  He would have thought that if there was nothing left for the doctors to do then they would want to get them out of there; instead they were left for what felt like months, just the two of them in an antiseptic bubble.

Just the _two_ of them.

“I should call my mom.”

“I’ll do it.”

A nod against his chest. “What will you say?”

“I’ll just tell her what’s going on.”

Catelyn’s voice had strained with concern when he relayed the facts, just the facts. Maybe he should have offered a kinder word but... well, he couldn’t really care about that, not when his heart was with Sansa in the exam room; he needed to get back to her before that fucking nurse did.

Discharge instructions, signing papers, settling the bill... it all felt kinda stupid, such minor details, didn’t these people know there were bigger things to worry about? When they finally left that damn hospital he was very relieved but very angry and very, very tired.  

Sansa hadn’t said a word on the way home then disappeared into the bathroom as soon as they got there. He stripped all the sheets off the bed, cleaned everything up best he could while the sounds of the shower droned on and on and on.  When she finally emerged all pink and waterlogged he asked if she needed anything...

And thus began his adventure in Maxipad Land. Pfft, whatever. It wasn’t _that_ bad, not in the grand scheme of things, though he had to admit that just yesterday he would have been mortified.  The cashier had looked at him in pity but really, fuck her pity.  She didn’t know the half of it.  

Sansa was sitting in the darkened living room when he got home, wearing her shabbiest sweatpants and staring at nothing in particular, one hand across her belly, the other hand clutching a nearly-full glass of wine. Mourning.  

“I thought ‘I sure could use a drink right now,’” she said numbly, watching him put the perishables away. “Then I remembered that I _could_ have a drink right now, no reason not to.  Yay silver lining.” 

She took a sip of wine. Swallowed.  Stared. 

“I got some Ben and Jerry’s," he told her. "And a whole bunch of girly what-nots.  No idea what I was doing.”

She laughed at his folly, a genuine laugh but blunted, but when he landed heavily on the couch beside her that mirth faded and she leveled serious, watery eyes at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he bristled.

Fuck. She was forever apologizing for things that weren’t her fault and he could _not_ let her apologize for this.  Probably shouldn’t have growled at her like that, though.  He’d do better next time. 

“No, I mean... I’m sorry for your loss.”

His loss. Shit. 

He pulled her against him, _over_ him, cradled her in his arms, raked fingers through her wet hair and kissed her swollen eyelids while tears leaked out of her, slow but relentless. 

“I can’t believe it’s over. It’s not supposed to be over.  I don’t even know if it was a boy or a girl and... how could that _be?”_ She swallowed.  “I feel like a failure.”

“You’re not a failure.”

“But it was mine to protect.”

“Sansa, it’s not your fault.”

“I almost wish it _was._ I wish I could say ‘I should have bought the better vitamins’ or ‘I shouldn’t have gone on that bike ride.’  At least then there would be a reason.  And I’d know what to do, how to prevent it.  Right now it’s just... it doesn’t make any _sense._ How do I keep it from happening again if I don’t know why it happened in the first place?”

“You can’t.”

“I wanted it so much.”

“I know.”

She closed her eyes. Opened them.  Swallowed.

“I don’t know if I can _do_ this again.  If we tried and lost another one... I don’t know if I could handle it.”

“There are lots of other ways to have a family.”

“Do you even _want_ to have a family?”

He almost said it- that he wanted what _she_ wanted, and as long as she wanted a family that was all that mattered.  But that’s how he felt _before._ Now there was a spot, a place holder for something he was supposed to do, someone he would love and care for _.  Later._   He glanced down at the boneless little bird in his arms, took one look at the muted emotion in her eyes... and told her the truth.

“I could have a family with you.”  _Almost_ the truth.

“What if it never happens?”

He shrugged. “Then it never happens.”

“That’s very flippant,” she huffed, mildly annoyed.  

“I’m not trying to be flippant. I’m trying to say it’s not so bad.  We’ve got a lot to be grateful for, more than a lot of other people.”

She took a deep shaky breath. Let it all out.  Swallowed.

“I want more.”

He wanted to _give_ her more, wanted to make her happy, wanted to promise all her dreams would come true and wanted to _mean_ it. It wasn’t a promise he could keep, though, nothing he had any control over, and heavens knew he wasn’t about to lie to her. So he promised nothing, sat with her on the couch, refilled her wine glass when she needed it, let her cry in his arms till the day was over. Tomorrow they’d pick up all the little pieces and tuck them away. And someday, if she wanted, they would try again.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is interested, pinkolifant wrote a lovely followup for this fic where Sansa and Sandor do indeed get their happy ending
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/8079181


End file.
